


In the Order of Blood Sweat & Tears

by vajallie



Series: NejiTen Month 2019 [1]
Category: Naruto
Genre: F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, sexual attaction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-06-03 14:53:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19466311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vajallie/pseuds/vajallie
Summary: Tenten's carelessness causes a kunai to ricochet from Neji's kaiten and impale her palm. Neji thinks it's a sexual undertone.





	In the Order of Blood Sweat & Tears

**Author's Note:**

> Day 3 Song Prompt of NejiTen Month 2019. Song title: Blood Sweat & Tears - BTS. 
> 
> I'd suggest taking a look at the music video and reading the lyrics in order to understand the entirety of this piece. The verbiage is quite technical, akin to the romanized translation of the song. I've taken some literal themes presented in the music video such as the idea of flight, the wings, the statues, the drinks, the smoke, etc. I've also utilized interpretive themes as well i.e. the inspiration for the whole of the song is based on Demian.  
> Although the lyrics aren't inherently sexual, as its meaning in regards to BTS and their artistry is implied, I've looked at the choice of words by face value.  
> I also paid attention to the filmography, the items used by the members, the settings, etc. to form the most simplistic of the song's lyrical, theatrical, and tonal connotation that encompasses the Order of Blood Sweat & Tears.  
> Sorry for the long note!

The blood comes first, oozing from the fresh cut on her hand, the result of a mishandled kunai caused by— two, the sweat perspiring from her pores. He’d wince if the wound was his’ but it doesn’t belong to him. As it is, the concerned expression on his face shouldn’t be present at all. So when did he adorn these wilting gazes upon a grown woman who should know how to handle her own weapons? When did he exchange the old callous demeanor, shedding it off for a softer tone? Making her mistake affect him personally? It is because of the third, her tears that collect in her sockets, daring him to take notice. And so when he does, it all disappears, never once traveling down the plump flesh of her rosy cheeks in the feverish summer weather. He finds it unusually attractive that her tears never amount to the pain she endures. 

Neji dispels his heavenly spin, angling his ankle in just the correct position to stand up tall. The moment the grotesque veins retract from his regal cheekbone, away with it goes his audacious tendency to burden himself with her self-caused injury. He can no longer see her from the ground as she perched herself high above him from afar, acting as the assailant— no, the predatory bird that has somehow lost its skills to hunt, to fight.  _ Erm _ , Neji clears his throat with the cheapest of his acting skills just as the blackbird plops in front of him. A wing of her’s has been injured, something he already knew and acknowledged and sought to rectify himself from fawning over. Somehow, with just her proximity closer to him now, Neji finds her irresistible to ignore. Therefore he ogles despite not wanting to. From her womanly curves: the subtle sway of her hips that she hides with those ridiculously baggy pants, the motions, or lack thereof of her breasts meekly announcing that they exist— perhaps Neji is far keener on her pouty lips. She walks to him with wavy brows, eyes down to her raised bloody palm. Clumps of hair that have dampened with pure salty sweat glue themselves to her temples, drawing curls upon curls, loops upon loops around the frame of her face. It makes him dazed, eyes blurry, and knees almost buckling at such a lecherous sight of her. He admits it right then; Neji is drunk in her. 

“Can we end the session a bit earlier today?” Tenten stops just seven feet short of him. She feels as if she’s suspended from the waist, hoisted up by the sky, dangling like a ragdoll whenever he stares too many seconds for too long. He hasn’t been discreet about it nor has she verbally pointed it out to him. She doesn’t want to. Being blind to those eyes of his’ is something she willingly loses herself to. Tenten would suggest that not wanting to acknowledge his lustful gazes is almost comparable, perhaps even symbolic of him blindfolding her. She doesn’t mind it; she doesn’t mind him. After all, Neji and she are late-blooming adults. 

“If you’re still up for research later, you can come by around six. I’ll get this wrapped up and you can help me develop a new tool,” Tenten attempts to wiggle her middle finger to no avail. “What do you say?” Her eyes fling up, the red of her blood makes the image of him almost demonic for a split second. It is as if she’s succumbed to his leer, almost wanting to do the same and drink the entirety of him until the taste of him burns her throat. Such a vulgar descent into demolishing her self-control, Tenten wipes away that redness and in turn, produces the innocent smile she wears on her sleeve. 

.

.

“Want” is such a strong word but Neji definitely wants her. He wants her a lot. Therefore, there was no single cell in him pushing him to decline her when she asked if he wanted to join her at her home for the rest of the night  _ again. _ Again, twice a week, every week of every month, Neji finds himself under an intoxicating spell whenever he steps out of his residence pacing instinctively towards her home. Every step is accompanied by his heart’s quaking chant, under a spellbinding trance, the sequence must be the same. First, it is always the blood trickling from her peachy skin, wherever he manages to hurt her.  _ Ah,  _ Neji finally admits to it; purposefully, he harms her in order to commence the order from one to two— sweat eliciting a dewy glow to her creamy skin. And finally, the tears that arrogantly refuses to fall down her chocolate-like cheeks. 

Neji wonders when he’ll shake away this insolence towards himself; they’re already too old for their standard of love-play. How disrespectful of him to put that upon themselves. Everyone close to them are married and he’s here putting self-control on the pedestal. He knows that she knows that he wants her. He knows she wants him. And though their social classes no longer mattered, as directed by his own uncle— actually, as pressured by his own uncle to wed anyone as soon as possible, Neji should have taken the first opportunity and give in to his wants the first night she invited him to her home. However, he didn’t, and she never returns with the same vigor. It is as if they are merely playing their parts; she as the priceless one-of-a-kind piece of art and him as the goddamn pretentious expert. He who knows every centimeter of her body through the opera glasses, allowing his eyes to feast only on the brightness that is her in such a dark world that they live in— to touch such a fragile piece, one that can bleed if he so chooses to continue doing so, Neji feels unworthy of holding her. 

The door opens and there she is, standing so vulgarly according to him. She might as well not wear a shirt if wearing a shirt stops him from gawking at her unbound breasts. The protrusion indeed hammers to his head that they are both grown, too grown. Neji creaks a hiss, having his lips crook themselves into a tiny smirk; he did not mean to let it slip so early, his unhealthy desire for her that is, but she merely invites him in into her prison. She is the key; whether he stays or leave is up to her. Neji steps in, addicted to a place he can’t really call home unless she allows him to. In the black bird’s nest, her injured wing is bandaged rather neatly in white cloth. He wonders if she’ll be able to fly if he caves into his wants. If he chooses to bite and make her other wing bleed, would the sweat follow after? Would the tears rain down? 

Neji has been sitting beside her, holding up a book he has no interest in for all his nerves are concentrating a little too hard on her. From time to time, he’d flip a page and then the next, and then the next. It reminds him of their session that afternoon where the strands of her locks loops and curls and stick themselves lavishly on her misty face. But before he could be more lost in her drink dizzying him, her elbow jabs his ribs. Like an arrow shot from her dandy slender fingers, it pulls him from the farthest of his mind back into reality. Dazed and almost crumbling when he turns his head to her, feeling how close they’ve become, Neji blows a short breath in frustration. He turns a page, disappointed that he’s brought in that pesky self-control yet again. 

He is flummoxed. She is staring at him with a playful undertone. Neji gulps, swallowing the last drop of her. She isn’t looking away. She’s not saying anything. The point at which they’re bound seems to singe; their shoulders chafing although neither are moving. Neji can feel his poorly constructed facade crack. His stone-like expression fractures and he swears that if she continues to let him gaze into her orbs, he might just let loose all the vibrant colors he has been storing inside of him and paint her wings. However, she breaks the concentration, turning away. 

Tenten giggles out of habit, the grin on her lips is sinister: childish but seductive. Blood is rushing frenetically throughout her extremities. Her ears are hot, cheeks are visibly beaten with a red blush, and the tips of her fingers are throbbing, glowing in amber, aching to tie him here for the night. She wants him a lot, perhaps more than him but she will never act upon it. 

A flightless bird such as she might as well be wingless. Perched on the balcony, if she is to jump, only he can be the one to push her over. After all, despite the torn down social class, they still like to keep things unchanging. If Tenten is to move first, she’d have no one to blame for falling from the balcony. It is only right that he acts first, pushes her first, kisses her first so that everything that happens afterward will be because of him. Whether both of them die from this poisonous concoction or from this toxic green smoke: a sexual attraction far more than just sex or these unsaid words that spew as whispers throughout the room, he’d have to push through those doors and kiss her. 

Tenten moves her wrist in a rather soothing manner, transcribing an innocuous kanji from ink to ink. Her calligraphy with a brush seems so innocent just like a glass of whiskey. But the more she pleasingly write, the more time is running around their initial intense gaze. Her breath runs cold as the seconds tick by; tonight will be like all the other nights. 

The sound of the brush on paper is that of a melody. Tenten listens to the intricate music until it is cut short. The book he is holding shuts loudly, breaking the tune in half. And before she knows it, she is frozen. The blood pooling to her fingertips explodes when he ravished her onto her bed. 

It begins with blood; Neji can easily identify it now. The blackbird does not have to physically bleed. She is already smitten with their love-play, he’s quite slow when the evidence has always been present. Those red blotches on her skin, on her nose, on her shoulders, on her lips, this blackbird has always been standing before a red horizon of her desires. Neji descends down to Tenten, stopping just seven centimeters short from her lips. “How long will we dance around each other like this?”

Tenten shrugs candidly, “Until you kiss me on the lips.” Neji leans back, their centimeters are replaced with inches. Tenten grabs him tightly, “But if you drink me tonight, both of us will never walk different paths again.”

Neji’s cold breath mingles with her’s, instantly burning warmly. The opera glasses are thrown astray; his fingerprints are all over the priceless piece of art. Neji plants a peck on her reddened lips. His expressionless face cracks, leaking several shades of dynamic colors onto her skin. Those blackened wings flutter with fresh colors. “I don’t care. I don’t want to run away. I can’t reject you anymore.” He kisses her again, sparking more energy from her than before. It is a long kiss, one filled with passion. Tongues move, emphasizing and mouthing all the unsaid words filling up in the room. But before they can continue, Neji parts from her, panting. “Close my eyes so I won’t be able to snap out of this. Take it all away.”

It leads with sweat; Neji understands it now. She has flipped him, reversed them. All the colors on his face are uncontrollably dripping from his pores. She is making every euphoric feeling come to him. 

The veil that cascades over Tenten slowly lifts from her body as her fingertips light up his clothes. She undoes every sash of his’, every button of his’, and every lace of his’ until only his kimono sleeves hang from his arms. And when she pulls her own articles off, the veil that reveals her winglessness drapes over the both of them. Sworn to secrecy, a night for themselves, the balloon of innocence that she has been holding against the backdrop of that red horizon slips from her tainted fingers up into the sky that has suspended her by the waist for him. Tenten exchanges their meager whiskeys for poison, from a harmless love-play, she trades it for foreplay. They toast, her lips are upon him, hands scattering to every part of him that she’s been dreaming to touch. 

And it ends with tears; Neji first feels the heavy pitter of her teardrop as she makes love to him. “Are you in pain?” 

Tenten stops her hips from moving and sits up. “No, it’s because you’re too sweet.”

Neji chuckles, propping himself up to hold her close to him. He kisses her temple as her tears continue to fall. “You’re sweet, but you’re more bitter,” he whispers into her ear. 

“Then take it away. My blood sweat and tears, it’s all yours.”

**Author's Note:**

> I treated this prompt like an essay prompt, always referring to the main theme of what's being asked. Being literal in essays had transferred themselves here from analyzing the song and its different parts before trying to coherently put out a piece that'll suffice. If it's too flat, please forgive me.  
> I'm not quite satisfied with how little I gave time to flesh out Tenten, but today is Neji's birthday, hence the dominance of his perspective in this piece. I'm afraid that there is a lack of explanatory sexual tension between the two too. Please take it with a grain of salt. Thank you!


End file.
